Water in the Sky

it was clear that autumn
is calmly taking over

without a cloud in the
sky the sun seemed so
bright and unstoppable

as we sat and enjoyed
this rare day she
gazed skyward then

turned to me and said
it is like

water in the sky

I turned to her smiled
and said you know I
think you just gave

me my poem for today

Joyful Interlude

At some point I stopped
listening to music. For me
it was someone else’s joy.

Someone else’s story.
Not mine. Abuse of any
kind stops the music

of your life.

My LP records sit on a
shelf. I thumb through
them from time to time.

I can’t play my music
CDs either. I don’t want
to revisit a life of abuse.

Songs stir memories
I rather not have. But I
long for the sweet and

joyful interlude that
was written only for me.

[Author’s note: FYI, there is an exception. I have a group of CDs known as my car music, e.g., The Manhattans, Huey Lewis, The Commodores, to name a few, that I listen to on and off. But they stay in the car.]

Sunday is Coming

It’s cold. The rain is steady
and cold. Not a soul outside,
Just me. There goes a bird.

Another bird from a different
tree. The rain is stopping soon.
I’m hopeful on Fridays because

COVID–19 is leaving and Sunday
is coming.

Then Sunday passes. The call
will come. Maybe not today.
Maybe tomorrow because

Sunday is coming.

Shadows in Life

all things are forgotten
by humankind
by time
by design

except for the memories
of war
of abuse
of pain
of suffering

for they are our own
they made us who we are
maybe not who we thought
we wanted to be

and what of the other memories
of joy
of love
of peace
et cetera

they cast light on the shadows
in life with hope for the life
to come

just like the knowledge of God
cannot be listed as a memory